What my father taught about resilience and stakeholder management

My father is a remarkable man – the seventh and youngest son of humble country folk. To make ends meet, my grandparents juggled odd jobs and tended to a small garden, which provided them with some produce along with a few chickens and turkeys. Growing up, the rule of thumb was that as soon as you were old enough to work, that became the top priority.

Perhaps due to being the youngest, my dad was fortunate enough to be spared some of the struggles his siblings faced. He was able to continue his studies for a few more years and learned a trade as an automotive electrician.

In every sense of the word, my father made it! He worked hard to provide my sister and me with access to education and the opportunity to pursue our dreams. However, my father's youth was vastly different from the one I share with my daughter. I can only try to imagine and glean from family stories the hardships he and his siblings had to endure at such a tender age.

He established a small business and earned a reputation as an excellent electrician. From a young age, I would visit his shop and witness him starting a car with soap or assembling a car alarm and sound system using English instructions, despite not speaking the language at all. All he needed was to grasp the color code; the rest was a jigsaw puzzle of trial and error. This brings me to the first valuable lesson my father imparted to me: the essence of resilience.

My father's mind operates like a vast system with many subsystems, gears and polys. I can almost envision the gears turning when faced with new challenges. I am in awe as I watch him approach each obstacle with patience and diligence, learning from every attempt and persisting until he succeeds.

His intuition is remarkable; he starts by truly understanding the problem and then breaks it down into manageable pieces, eliminating bottlenecks one by one until the solution emerges. His never-give-up attitude can be exhausting to witness from the outside, but there is an invisible force that propels him forward. In those moments, he enters a zone of unwavering focus, trying various approaches, persistently insisting on finding the right path.

Surrounded by customers all the time, he works in a bustling, noisy environment. This takes me to the second lesson of what my father taught me about stakeholder management.

His shop resembles a local open market, where people from all walks of life, driving cars of all makes and models, from family minivans to big trucks come together. Everyone is treated with equal respect. It is common to see more than 5 or 10 people gathered around my father as he moves from car to car, managing expectations and communicating with his customers. He shares stories and invites others to do the same, making time go faster and creating an environment where everyone feels welcome. I’m sure he enjoys the attention, but I am also certain that he deeply cares about his customers and is genuinely dedicated to helping them.

Rooted in humility yet assertive when necessary, my father goes the extra mile, working long hours and tackling challenges with relentless determination, never forgetting about whom he is serving. In the corporate world, I find his invaluable lessons in stakeholder management coming to life. Empathy is key to understanding the other person's perspective, motivations, and context of their actions.

His unyielding confidence and impeccable work ethic have left an indelible mark on me, shaping me both as a professional and as a person. The core values he instilled in me are simple yet profound: always give my best, never give up, be available to others, stay curious, and respect everyone, seeking to understand their unique journey.

At 75 years old, time may be catching up, but my father's spirit remains as strong as ever. I have given up on urging him to take it easy and enjoy life more; he belongs to a generation deeply committed to hard work and providing for their loved ones. He is my hero, my role model, and in moments of struggle or uncertainty, I often find myself asking, "What would my father do?"